


Last Day Spent

by WhoaaKayy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A Christmas Carol, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoaaKayy/pseuds/WhoaaKayy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Think about it, Doctor." He continued on, "one last day with your beloved" -turned to him, searching, "which day would you choose?" But his eyes closed, his mind froze, and he could think no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Day Spent

"Better a broken heart than no heart at all." He said quietly, thoughtfully, trying to offer the man some comfort.

"Try it— _you try it_!" Kazran spat back immediately. The skin around his eyes pinched painfully; his tear-ducts stung.

He refused to admit that he already had, simply because while it was him who had in fact experienced it, it was not _him_ —his own body—that had felt the pain. Something deep inside his chest, however, clenched angrily—almost reproachfully—at the angry man's words. The automatic retort died on the tip of his tongue as they both lapsed into a pregnant silence for one single uneasy second.

Kazran changed the subject abruptly, albeit still angrily, but he was grateful. He fell into the fast-paced justification of all the elaborate measures he's taken—and still continued to take—that evening, rattling them off like prescriptions any good, _real_ doctor would do for one's patient. Kazran fought back with a jaded vehemence, explaining such a cruel atrocity that his mind merely declined to listen to it. His words bit, like the freeze in the winter air, but the Doctor let them snap, so much as hardly deciphering the harsh language that rang throughout the air around them.

"I'm not like you, I don't even _want_ to be like you!" He suddenly snarled, adding too much emphasis than needed for his taste. He didn't flinch at the burning words, but some long-since buried thought in his mind heartily agreed with this man, and would give anything in the world to not be like him, either.

But that was impossible, he thought with an internal shake to clear his head. Who _wouldn't_ want to be like him? He wore bowties and suspenders, he was cool.

He was too preoccupied with all these new, intruding thoughts that he blatantly disregarded anything else the man dared to say. Even when the constantly aware level of his mind dropped the hammer of realization that always seemed to fall at just the right moment—saving everything—, he barely noticed. Something was stirring some very dormant emotions inside of him, and not just any dormant emotions: ones that were forced dormant, down into the very black, murky depths of his mind, hoping to be forgotten about all together.

What felt like only a blink of time passing, and the man had changed. Just like that, almost with a snap of a finger. Sometimes he marveled at his handiwork.

Now he had Christmas to finish saving. The small part of his mind, still snagged on that one fateful day, could wait.

But things did not go as easily as planned, as they usually never did, and he had conjured up one of his brilliantly terrible ideas. Sure, he could probably think of another, less drastic one, but he didn't have the time to think anymore. This was the quickest way to get his friends—and the other four thousand and one passengers—to safety.

So now here they were: back in the surplus population center, and Kazran's heart was breaking as he spoke, but he still spoke. Thankfully though, this time it wasn't as angry as it was bitter. At least he could avoid another argument for awhile.

Kazran stared at her chamber helplessly, torn. "Would you do it," he asked, "would you do this?"

He couldn't deem the man with a reply if he tried, but only because his voice wouldn't allow him to.

"Think about it, Doctor." He continued on, "one last day with your beloved" –turned to him, searching, "which day would you choose?"

His eyes closed, his mind froze, and he could think no more.

_Rose Tyler..._

His mind quaked around the whispered name. _No,_ he thought forcefully. Not now.

But she was there, filling every space of his enormous mind, and then suddenly: he was there, lying in the guest bed, wearing Jackie's boyfriend's extra set of PJ's. Rose was tending to him, crying over him, pleading for his help. How could he deny her?

And then they were in a strange building he didn't recognize, but instinctively knew to be the Torchwood Institute, and everything was in hues of blue and red.

There was screaming, and lots of running, but there was always her face, grinning foolishly in through the chaos. Lighting the way for him. She was there, and—and...

_"There was never anyone else."_

She was fighting, but he wouldn't have it. For once, why couldn't she listen to him and look out for the safety of herself? He tried, he did the only thing he could think of, but it was no use. She was saying the most wonderful words he had ever heard, like music to his tired, old ears, and he had never heard such a sweeter sound. He was terrified, sure, but she _promised_. Promises meant something to him.

But then she was falling, after being such a hero—after trying so _hard_ to make him proud—and he couldn't do anything.

She was saved, but still lost. He couldn't reach her.

Kazran's words rang in his ears, like a hollow drum. He's a Time Lord, for goodness sake, how did he not know that would have been her last day on this world—with him? Why did he make her spend it fighting Cybermen and Daleks and being _scared_? She should've been with her family, laughing and joking and happy. She should've been with him, in the TARDIS, dancing around like they used to what seemed like so long ago.

 _"I—I love you,"_ she was crying, and he wished more than anything he had the nerve to say it back, say everything he wanted to say, right down to the very last protest of how unfair all this was that she was stuck here, in this foreign yet so familiar word, and he couldn't be with her.

_Say it back, you buffoon. Just say it back!_

But he was silent, and the connection died. If it were _him_ , he would've...he would've...

He jolted himself as hard as he could, sending all those dizzying memories as far back into his mind as they would go. He looked over at Kazran and realized the man never waited for an answer, too enamored in seeing Abigail, he supposed, and that was fine. He set up the necessary equipment on auto-pilot, forcing himself not to stop and think. He prattled about alien technology and how it would work for this specific occasion, busying his audience with the sound of his voice as he worked. Abigail would be the hero and save Christmas for those four thousand and three passengers up in the air. Kazran would be proud of her.

He looked up at the wondrous sky, listened to the singing, and wondered where she was...if she was happy.

His friends bounded up from the shadows awhile later, shivering and happy. Their odd wardrobe struck him, and he questioned it, but he found he didn't much care after they refused to give him a straight answer the first time. He simply kept the ruse up for their sakes. They needn't know of his past, not yet anyway. Not as long as he could prevent it.

Amy hugged him. It reminded him of her, but he tried his best to return the gesture.

Leading them back to the TARDIS, he picked a spot at random when he heard the beginning form of a familiar question rise on Rory's lips. Perfect, he thought. No memories. A fantastic escape.

Halfway out of the dark, he thought, just as Amy asked if he was okay.

He answered too quickly, and she did the same. They both knew the other was lying. In the short time they had spent together, they had at least learned something.

"It'll be their last day together, won't it?" Amy asked, ignorant. Her laugh tickled his ears; her hair his skin. Memories pulsed in his head.

He looked away skittishly, groping for some sort of answer. "Everything's got to end sometime," he told himself more than her. "Otherwise nothing would ever get started."

"Where are they?" Amy asked after Rory went back inside, informing them of a phone call. "Kazran and Abigail."

"Off on a little trip, I should think." He said wistfully, New New York blooming in front of his eyes. He swallowed.

"Where?" She asked again, and he felt himself snap a little.

"Christmas," the word tasted bitter and foul in his mouth, but he said it anyway. He could think of better Christmas trips.

"Christmas?" She inquired with a playful air in her voice.

"Yeah," he said offhandedly, and as if he hadn't said the damned word enough on this trip, "Christmas."

She laughed, thinking it was all some kind of game, before heading inside his little blue box. He looked down, her smile still shining behind his eyes, before looking back up at the sky ruefully, chuckling, as if listening to the Universe say "There will always be something."

"Half-way out of the dark," He replied in his own little farewell, smirking up at the stars. Half-way out of which dark, he wondered absently. All the dark that plagued Time and Space? He doubted it. Never a day off in his book. Out of what, then? His dark? He sent one last thoughtful glance up the inky black sky, watching a carriage fly through the clouds happily.

Maybe. He'd just have to wait and see.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't own.
> 
> Originally posted at FF.net on December 30th, 2010.
> 
> Hauling everything over because I go on here more than FF.


End file.
